Brynjolf & The Dragonborn
by NeonStar89
Summary: Brynjolf starts to learn more about his 'lass'. Rating may change depending on how chapters pan out.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls series. All I own is this version of the Dragonborn, based on my own character in the game.

Arrows

Brynjolf was late getting back from the Bee and Barb. Very late. Talen-Jei it seemed had asked Keerava to marry him, finally. As such, the mead was far more free-flowing than usual and for longer. And Brynjolf was by no means the last to leave. Inside the Bee and Barb, life was bright, colourful and relaxed. Outside of the inn, things were tense. Word had reached Riften that Whiterun had been attacked by the Stormcloaks and taken under their control. Citizens that were loyal to Balgruuf and the Empire had fled, seeking asylum in the other Holds. None had come as far as Riften but there was time yet. Many members of the Thieves Guild had flooded back in the last few days, seeking refuge in the cisterns under the city. This sudden influx made the city guards nervous. With the civil war gathering pace and the numbers of dragons soaring, everyone just wanted to go home, to go where they felt safe. But there had been no word on the lass for almost a week.

The lass, that auburn-haired slight, little thing he'd picked up on a whim in the marketplace. Who could have known she'd have found a natural knack for thievery? Last he'd heard she'd been on her way to Solitude to deal with Gulum-Ei. If that Argonian prick had hurt her…no, the lass was smarter than that, stronger and quicker too. No doubt if Gulum-Ei pulled a knife on her, she'd already have one of her own at his scaly throat. Perhaps she had got caught up in some other trouble. All it would take is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe she'd been caught out by a dragon. No, the dragon one was the least likely. He remembered the day she had gone to Goldenglow. A few hours later, the ground had shook and so had the Flagon. The thieves had rushed over ground to see what had happened. Brynjolf and Mercer had slipped out through the entrance in the graveyard only to see a dragon skeleton lain out on the grass in front of them and the lass, slightly out of breath, stood next to it. She claimed it had spotted her on her way to Goldenglow. She had turned back and it had followed her. Thankfully, the aim of all of Riften's guards had been true and the dragon had been brought down quickly with only a few minor burns to show for it.

A few days later, Brynjolf had overheard odd rumours about the lass. Stories of her shouting strange words at the dragon, of her raiding the skeleton for bones and scales and of light flying out of the dragon and into her. That had sparked stories of the Dragonborn returning. No, it was silly. His lass wasn't the Dragonborn. She was just a little Nord girl who had got lost on the back roads and wound up in Riften by mistake. With all the coin she had been carrying, she was undoubtedly some lord's daughter who had run away from home to look for some adventure. Well, she'd found it in Riften. He'd spotted her first of all coming out of the Temple of Mara and then perusing the market stalls. He'd decided to tease her and been quite surprised when she had responded with a warrior's tongue. It had taken her a while after getting caught by the guards to pluck up the courage to come find him but she had come and he'd been glad. After that first mistake, she had never gotten caught again.

He nudged the button to open the entrance to the cistern, rubbing his eyes. All he wanted right now, was to fall asleep on his soft bed. He would have preferred it if he hadn't been alone but all the women in the Bee and Barb had been far too drunk. It would have been like fucking a corpse and he'd have felt bad about taking advantage the next day. He didn't want to deal with that and a hangover. The cisterns were deserted. As he entered the Flagon, he found even Vekel and Tonilia had retreated to bed for a few hours. There was no sound and all but one of the lanterns were out. Except Brynjolf was sure he could hear breathing. There was a groan and a loud smash. He grabbed the only lit lantern and looked around. Then he saw the horned iron helmet and quiver of arrows that he had spotted that day in the market and that hair, the beautiful auburn hair that had been braided. Now it was loose and knotted. Her helmet wasn't clean; it had scratches and scuffs of mud and grass. Her armour had scorch marks too.  
>"Lass!" Brynjolf said, rushing to her side. He set the lantern down and rolled her over. She had knocked a plate and several tankards off the bar when she had collapsed and now he saw why. Blood seeped through the gaps in her armour. Arrows. Brynjolf lifted her head up.<br>"Lass? Can you hear me, lass?" he said. She groaned, her eyes still closed. He slid one arm under her neck before grabbing the lantern with the other and lifting her knees with it. She was hurt and needed help. But not here. He couldn't let the other thieves see her like this. He felt the need to protect her.

Brynjolf took her back to a little part of the cisterns that he called home. An alcove that had been bricked off save for a wooden door. It wasn't huge, but he had a king-sized bed, an end table, chest, half-empty bookcase, a table and two chairs. This was Brynjolf's space. This is where he slept, his private little sanctum. Only Mercer and Vex had ever been in here. And now the lass. He put the lantern on the end table before laying her down on the bed, trying not to jar her as he did so. He lit the other lanterns in the room, so he had enough light to examine her wounds.  
>"Alright, lass," he said, "I'm going to take a look at you, get you sorted out, ok?" The lass just whimpered. Now she was lying on his bed, she looked even smaller. For the first time, Brynjolf found himself wondering how old she was. Then more questions came unbidden into his mind. Where was she from? Why had she come to Riften in the first place? Did she have any family? What was her first name? She'd always been 'Lass' to him, everyone else had just called her 'Newbie' or his protégé. Could it have been that no one had bothered to ask her name? Then again, she hadn't exactly offered up the information. Brynjolf blinked and tried to focus on the task at hand. He had to remove her armour to treat her wounds.<br>"Alright lass, I need to remove your armour," he said to her, though he wasn't sure how much she understood at this point. He stood up straight before removing her helmet. Her eyes were scrunched shut and there was sweat on her brow. He reached over her and unfastened the buckles on her armour before slowly removing it. It came off easily enough until he reached the side where the wounds were. She screamed when he gave it a firm tug to finally remove it. Brynjolf fought to keep his eyes on her wounds. She wore nothing underneath her armour. He reached over her and pulled over one of the smaller pelts that covered his bed to cover her before focussing on her wounds. There was dried blood all over her side along with fresh blood from when he'd removed her armour. She had three arrows embedded in her side, the shafts still sticking out.  
>"I know, lass," Brynjolf said, reaching up and placing his hand on her brow, "I know it hurts, I'm going to help you." He took another look at her side. He needed to clean it up first. He left to go fetch some water and some clean rags. When he came back, she had moved. She was half way to being sat up, leaning against the cold stone, one arm clutching the pelt to her chest.<br>"It's going to be alright, lass," he said, setting the water and rags on the floor next to the bed. She nodded a little.

Brynjolf fetched a few items from the chest at the bottom of his bed. A knife, needle, thread and a piece of leather. He dipped a rag into the water and began to clean up the dried blood. She winced and her breaths turned to pants.  
>"I know, lass, I know," Brynjolf said, trying to soothe her. Once cleared, he could see the arrows more clearly. It was as he had feared, the arrowheads were completely sunken into her flesh. He'd have to cut her to get them out.<br>"I'm going to have to cut you, lass," he said gently. He looked up at her, expecting to see fear. Instead she just looked him in the eye and said, "Do it." Her voice shook a little but that was probably from her injuries rather than fear.  
>"Right," Brynjolf said. He took the scrap of leather and put it in her mouth, for her to bite down on. He decided to go for the top one first.<br>"Alright," he said, "Here we go." He didn't hesitate; he just cut a slit in her flesh. She screamed, biting down on the leather to muffle it. Her fists clenched into the pelt and her eyes shut. Brynjolf eased the arrow out and quickly pressed a clean, dry rag to it to stem the bleeding. Her breaths were shallow and the sweat had returned. She was trembling and Brynjolf felt a pang of guilt.  
>"Just two left to go," he said. She nodded. He quickly repeated the steps with the second one but when he cut for the third one, she dropped the leather, screamed and slumped as she passed out. Brynjolf cauterised her wounds by heating the knife before sewing them shut to encourage healing, then he wrapped a bandage around her to keep them clean. Not an easy task when he was trying to avert his gaze from her naked flesh.<p>

She whimpered a little as he finished tying the bandage and lay her down. He pulled the big bear pelt over her. It was the comfiest and the warmest one he had. He'd sleep in a chair tonight, to keep an eye on her. He tucked her hair behind her ear. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully at least. The thought reassured him as he sat in one chair and propped his feet up on the other. He'd ask her all those questions tomorrow. Like how old she was, where she had come from, why she had come to Riften, where her family was, what her name was and most importantly, where she had gone to be pierced by the Imperial arrows that were now scattered across his table.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Elder Scrolls series.

A/N: I spent fifteen minutes on Tumblr last night and came to two general conclusions. 1 – we all wish we could marry Brynjolf and 2 – we love it when he calls us lass…or lad, depending on how you swing. Also, the rating on this has changed to M because neither Brynjolf nor the Dragonborn will behave themselves. You'll see in the next few chapters.

Lakeview Manor

Brynjolf woke when he slid off the chair the next morning. He swung his hand out to stop his fall but still landed in a haphazard pile on the stone floor. He looked up at the bed. The lass was still. He stood up to get a better look. The bear pelt was rising and falling gently. She was fine. Well, as fine as she could be. His head pounded. The mead from last night had come back to haunt him. He needed food and something to drink. He made his way to the door and slipped out as quietly as possible.

He had just made his way into the Flagon when he heard someone shout his name.  
>"Brynjolf, over here!" It was Vex. She was sat with Delvin and Sapphire, eating breakfast. Brynjolf joined them, though he didn't plan on staying long. He helped himself to some bread from the plate at the centre of the table and tore a piece off. As he chewed, he noticed Vex and Sapphire were smiling at him.<br>"What?" he asked, starting to feel nervous at the women's grins.  
>"Who is she?" Sapphire asked.<br>"Who?" Brynjolf asked, wondering if someone had seen him last night.  
>"Don't play coy, Brynjolf," Vex said, "We heard her screaming last night. You're the only man in the Guild who can make a woman scream like that."<br>"I wasn't so lucky last night, Vex," he said, "I slept alone. Perhaps some other lad was feeling lucky."  
>"Speaking of lucky, Etienne Ramis walked back into the cisterns this morning," Sapphire commented.<br>"Etienne? He's been missing for months," said Delvin.  
>"Apparently, he was captured by the Thalmor," Sapphire continued, "They thought he might know the whereabouts of someone they were looking for."<br>"The Thalmor? Then he is an incredibly lucky man," said Brynjolf, "How did he escape?"  
>"That's the interesting part," said Sapphire, "According to Etienne, your lass walked in, dressed in Elven Armour, fighting the Thalmor soldiers. She rooted through some chests, took some papers and then let him out."<br>"But isn't she supposed to be in Solitude, talking to Gulum-Ei?" said Vex, "Why would she be at the Thalmor Embassy?" The last part of her question was aimed at Brynjolf. He swallowed his mouthful of food, about to answer when…  
>"Brynjolf!" Mercer's voice filled the Flagon. Brynjolf looked over at the Guild's leader.<br>"With me now!" Mercer ordered. Brynjolf took a swig of the watered-down mean he'd been given by Vekel and followed Mercer out into the cisterns. It was empty, everyone was either still out or sitting down for breakfast.  
>"Brynjolf, I think it's safe to say I've been more than patient with you and your little protégé," Mercer began, giving Brynjolf a sinking feeling in his stomach, "But Maven Black-Briar came to see me last night. Apparently she told your little lassie to clear out that meadery near Whiterun over three weeks ago. It should have taken a week, not two! Then she had the cheek to give Maven attitude when Maven expressed her disappointment. I won't interfere in this instance but get your little whelp under control. Maven Black-Briar is what keeps this Guild alive. I'd rather cut one of my limbs off than lose Maven's business. Do I make myself clear?"<br>"Yes, Mercer," Brynjolf said.  
>"You may go," Mercer said, returning to his ledger. Brynjolf turned around and left back through the Flagon. He grabbed a bottle of mead and some food from the table he'd been sat at, telling Vekel to put them on his tab before heading back to his room. There was definitely something the lass wasn't telling everyone. The Thalmor Embassy, Whiterun, what was she doing out there in the rest of Skyrim? As he made his way through the Ratways back to his room, he saw Vex and Sapphire.<br>"Brynjolf, we've got a heist," Vex said, "We could use you there."  
>"Sorry, ladies," Brynjolf said, "But I'm going on a sabbatical." He brushed past them as they stared at him. He didn't stop until he reached his room and he wasn't going to leave until he had some answers.<p>

It took three days before the lass had recovered enough from her injuries. The vials of homemade health potions he gave her made her woozy and delirious; he couldn't get any sense out of her. So for three days, Brynjolf didn't leave his room. Vekel brought food and drink to him and Brynjolf paid him from the gold he had accumulated over his years as a thief. But no one came in or out. For three days, Brynjolf sat and slept in a chair, waiting for her to wake up enough to answer his questions. Every day, he changed her bandages, to check on how her wounds were healing and doing his best not to look at her body. But each day, he still snuck a glance. She had a woman's body, with full, round breasts that dipped into a slight waist before rounding out on her hips. Each day, he felt guilty about looking but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help admire her body. He couldn't help but frown when he saw a recent scar low on her abdomen. He almost missed it at first. It looked rough, jagged. It wasn't from a blade made by a blacksmith that was for sure. There was a bigger mystery behind this girl than it first seemed. But at least he had a name now. To pass the time, he had begun to clean her armour. After picking up the breast plate to clean it, a folded piece of paper had fallen out. It was a charter for some land in Falkreath Hold called Lakeview Manor. Not only did he know where the lass called home outside of Riften but he also had a name. Leif Erdolliel. So that was her name, or at least a name she went by.

When she awoke on the third day, Brynjolf was waiting patiently at her side.  
>"Brynjolf?" she said slowly as she sat up, "How did I?... Where am I?"<br>"You're in my private quarters in the Ratways," Brynjolf said, pouring some weak Nord Mead into a tankard and handing it to her, "Which is where you've been for three days, since I found you collapsed on the floor of the Flagon." She took the tankard before curiously peaking under the bear pelt that covered her.  
>"Oh," she said, before taking a gulp of mead, "Thank you."<br>"Don't mention it, Leif," he said.  
>"What did you call me?" she asked, her head spinning sharply to look at him.<br>"That is your name isn't it? Leif Erdolliel?" Brynjolf said. She hesitated before nodding.  
>"Yes," she answered.<br>"Well, Leif Erdolliel, I have some questions for you," Brynjolf said, "But they can wait until I've taken you home."  
>"Home?" she asked.<br>"Yes, home," Brynjolf replied, "You need fresh air and I've always wanted to see Lake Ilinalta."  
>"How did you know that?" Leif said.<br>"I found this when I was cleaning your armour," he said, handing her the charter. She snatched it from his grasp.  
>"You've got a lot of secrets it seems," Brynjolf said, watching her carefully. She was ever so slightly turned away from him, a defensive posture. She was afraid.<br>"It's alright, lass," he said, reverting back to his pet name for her, "Look, I've already arranged it all with the carriage driver. We leave tonight at sundown." Leif nodded.  
>"Good," said Brynjolf, "Now, I need to go excuse myself with Mercer. I'll be back soon." He stood up to leave. As he reached for the door, Leif spoke again.<br>"Brynjolf," she said. He paused, his hand on the door, looking over his shoulder at her.  
>"Thank you," she said, "For looking after me."<br>"You're welcome, lass," he replied, smiling at her briefly before leaving.

That evening, just before sundown, they left his quarters. Brynjolf was carrying Leif's gear with one arm around her shoulders. She limped a little, her side still hurting. He'd given her some spare clothes. An old shirt and a hood to hide her face. Mercer hadn't been happy when Brynjolf had told him he would be leaving town for a while. His mood had worsened when Brynjolf had lied and said he didn't know where Leif was. The Guild Master had looked at him suspiciously. Brynjolf knew that Mercer could tell he was lying about something. But Brynjolf wouldn't let on that he knew exactly where his lass was. She was still new to the Guild, still raw. She'd made some mistakes along the way, same as the rest but it was the time it took for her to do the job that was the issue. Mercer wasn't the most patient man in the world and in order to protect her, Brynjolf needed to know what she was hiding. To do that, he needed to get her to trust him, and to get her well again. He couldn't do that in Riften. The Ratways were too dark, cold and damp, not to mention unfamiliar to her. He wanted to get her home, somewhere where they wouldn't be disturbed, where he could build a big fire to keep her warm. Somewhere she could relax. They made it out of the Ratways without being spotted and quickly through Riften to the gates.  
>"Halt!" called a guard as they approached. Brynjolf tensed.<br>"What are your names?" the guard demanded.  
>"Brynjolf and Leif," he answered. The guard looked at the second guard who had a roll of parchment in his hand. The second guard looked on the parchment and then nodded.<br>"Very well," the first one said, "With the war escalating and dragons roaming about, the jarl has given new orders, only those with transport arranged or in large groups may leave. The carriage driver said you'd arranged transport to Falkreath. Stay safe, travellers." Brynjolf let out a sigh of relief as they went through the gates. That was going to put a serious dampener on business for the thieves guild, not being able to leave on a whim. But that wasn't his problem right now. Let Mercer and Maven deal with the Jarl's orders. He was going to Falkreath Hold.

At the stables he first put her gear on the carriage then lifted Leif in.  
>"Ready, Brynjolf?" the carriage driver called. Brynjolf hoisted himself in, settling into the seat next to Leif.<br>"Ready," Brynjolf replied. There was a lurch and they were on their way. Leif leaned against him. She was still feeling rather weak. In the three days she had been in his care, he hadn't been able to get a lot of food in her, just the odd bit of soup when she'd half come round. He had no idea how she'd fended for herself in the days it had taken to get from Whiterun to Riften. The temperature was dropping rapidly, so he pulled her in close so he could wrap her in his cloak. He tried to ignore the warm feeling that spread through him as he felt her soft form pressed against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. 'It's just to keep her warm,' he thought, 'That's why she needs to be so close.' With his arm around her, he could feel every breath she took and as Lake Honrich gave into Treva River, he felt them even out. She was asleep, one hand resting on him. His lass. That's what everyone had been calling her, 'your lass' 'your little lassie'. He looked down at her slumbering form. He'd been closer to her than anyone else he'd brought into the Guild, true, and he wouldn't deny she was attractive. But did everyone else see something he didn't? He could smell her hair, like fresh air and snowberries. He shook his head and turned away. It wasn't right. He was meant to be caring for her; not lusting after her like she was some wench in the Bee and Barb. His arm involuntarily flexed when he thought about other men looking at her the same way. His gut boiled with a rage he was unfamiliar with. The movement of his arm pressed her closer to him and she made a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh. Her hand slid down him, dangerously close to his groin. He quickly snatched it up and moved it back to his chest where it clutched to a strap on his armour. There would be time for that later, he decided, when he knew who she was, when he had his answers and when she was well again. When he knew her mind, then he would know her body, learn every curve, every sensitive spot, what made her weep, what made her scream. Until then, he had to help her heal.

The sun was rising as they came up to Helgen the next day. Four times in the night they'd been forced to shelter or change their road by the roars of a passing dragon. Brynjolf couldn't help but admire how well-trained the beast that pulled the carriage was. It didn't make a sound as the driver had guided it into the trees or a cave, standing stock still until the danger had passed. Leif had slept through it all, though every time they heard a dragon roar, she had frowned in her sleep and muttered "Fus" over and over in her sleep. These route changes had led them through the mountains and now they had to pass through Helgen. As the carriage bumped and rolled over the broken road, Brynjolf looked down at his lass. Her eyes were open.  
>"Stop the carriage," she said, pulling away from Brynjolf. His side instantly felt cold.<br>"Stop the cart!" she shouted, making the driver jump and pull on the reins to stop the horse.  
>"Lass?" Brynjolf called as she scrambled out of the cart and towards the remnants of the settlement. She stood still, staring up at the burnt ruins. There was evidence of bandit activity but it looked like Falkreath guards now had control.<br>"Something the matter, lass?" Brynjolf asked, pressing his hand to the small of her back as she rubbed one arm.  
>"Helgen," she said, "I was here. The day the dragon attacked." Her hand reached up and touched the thin scar that came down her cheek from her left eye. He reached over and covered her hand with his.<br>"How did you get that?" he asked gently. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Clearly being here brought back some terrible memories.  
>"An Imperial soldier," she said, "Backhanded me, his gauntlet cut my face." Not a lot to go on, but it was something. Any other occasion, Brynjolf might have asked what she had done to merit a slap but instead his hands trembled slightly with anger that someone had dared raise a hand to her. There was a story behind her being at Helgen and he wanted to hear it. He saw a single tear slide down her face.<br>"Here, here, lass," he said, moving his hand from her lower back to her shoulders and pulling her in close, "That soldier is long gone, so is that dragon. It's just you and me. One more hour and we'll be at Lakeview. I'll get a nice fire going, and I'll fix us something to eat." There were no sniffles or sobs but her head did press against his shoulder and nod. He raised his hand and stroked her hair. It was soft and smooth as silk. He tried to imagine what it would be like to run his hands through it as he brought her down from heights of ecstasy.  
>"Let's get back in the carriage," he said, before gently guiding her towards it. They were so close now, he didn't want her running. His hand slipped into hers and it felt right.<p>

An hour later, the carriage stopped outside Lakeview Manor. Brynjolf was fairly impressed. She was doing quite well for herself apparently. The house had an entryway, a main hall and two wings. He could see some construction tools set up to one side and the beginnings of a stable across the road. Piles of lumber sat to one side. Clearly she was still working on the house.  
>"Alright, lass, home sweet home," he said as he opened the door. It was cold inside the house, no signs of embers in the fireplace in the main hall. 'No housecarl then,' he thought, 'Good, just the two of us.' She muttered something about getting changed and disappeared through a door on his left. He caught a glimpse of a bed before she shut the door. He turned around and set about building a fire in the large fireplace. It was just starting to warm the hall, and the pot of water he'd put over it, when she reappeared in a simple blue tunic and linen trousers. Brynjolf watched her as she sat down at the large table, wincing slightly. He needed to change her bandages. He swung a second cooking pot over the fire to start warming the water to make a stew. He'd procured some good venison in Riften before they had left. She needed something hearty to build her strength up. Reaching in the pack he had brought with them, he pulled out some rags and bandages before removing the first pot of warm water.<br>"I need to check your wounds, lass," he said, resting the pot on the table and sitting down. She hesitated for a moment. Her eyes flicked from the bandages to his hands that rested on his knees then finally up to his face.

There was still a small amount of fear there and he understood why. He'd found out so much about her after all this time, it must be overwhelming to have him know so much. She nodded and lifted her tunic to reveal the bandage. She didn't lift it all the way but Brynjolf had to swallow and concentrate when he saw the underside of her breasts just peeking out. He focussed on untying the knots and sliding the bandages down. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his fingers slid down her sides. He didn't know if it was from pain or something else. Her wounds seemed to be healing nicely though it would be a couple more days before he could remove the stitches. Thankfully it seemed the arrows hadn't been tipped with any poisons. He dipped a rag in the warm water and gently cleaned around them, wiping away any small flecks of blood that had appeared before using a dry rag to wipe away the excess water. His knuckles grazed the underside of her breasts by accident.  
>"Sorry," he said softly, not really meaning it. The lass just made a soft noise. Brynjolf moved to kneel in front of her to wrap the bandage around her, his eyes kept slipping to the soft mounds of flesh, barely concealed by her tunic. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop staring at them, picturing how they seemed to be the perfect size for his hands. He felt his blood rush down towards his groin and tried to fight it. He could feel her eyes watching him and his hands shook slightly as he began to tie the knot. The images in his head were too damn powerful. He wanted to kiss her, lick her, listen to her moan and cry out. He couldn't suppress the groan of need that spilled from his throat. He quickly stood up and walked away from her, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to think of anything else. He didn't hear her move, he just felt her hands on his waist, turning him around to face her. He tried to close his eyes, to not see her face but he felt a hand on his cheek and he just had to look at her. She stood there with the first smile he'd seen on her face all day and it made his heart ache. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Her balance was a little off so she was partly pressed against him. Her breasts pressing against his chest and her hips cradled his now throbbing erection. He moaned and kissed her back, his hands resting on her upper arms. She pulled away after a moment and he instantly missed the feel of her soft lips on his.<br>"Thank you," she whispered before kissing his cheek and moving away. She vanished through the doors back into the entryway, closing them behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls series.

A/N: I'm back! Sorry about the long time between updates. In the last two months, I've gotten married, been on honeymoon and had my hours at work shoot up! Curse you, real life, for getting in my way! Also, apologies for the editing of that last chapter. I was in the last month before my wedding and was attempting to upload and cook dinner at the same time. Female I may be, but multi-task, I cannot.

3. The Dragonborn

Brynjolf stumbled backwards into the wall and slid down it, drawing his knees up and resting his head against them. What was wrong with him? He wasn't some teenage boy. He was a seasoned man, capable of controlling his own body. The Divines knew he'd seduced his fair share of ugly women to get his prizes and the pretty ones just to get them into bed. But never had he lost control of himself so shamelessly before. All he'd wanted to do was bend her over the table, pull down her trousers and sink into her. And then she'd kissed him. Talos knows if she had held on a second longer with that kiss, she would have been pressed against the wall or on her bed, unable to stop him from consuming her body until she came apart in his arms. How had he, Brynjolf, the thief of Riften, lost his control?

He'd always been master of his own body, when his mind said no, his body obeyed. But this little scrap of a girl, no, this woman, this auburn-haired, flesh and blood and curves of a woman had made his body rebel for the first time in his four decades in this world. He let out a frustrated yell and clenched his fists. There was a pop and a drop of hot water hit his cheek. The cooking pot was ready. He stood up to chop the venison but his hands were shaking too much. He needed to cool off. He stormed out of the Manor's front doors and heading around the side towards the lake.

As he approached, he tore off his armour, clothes and boots before diving headfirst into the cool clear water. The cold water provided instant relief, thwarting his desires and allowing him to think clearly. What had she meant by 'thank you'? For the kiss? For finding her desirable? For wanting to do those things to her? 'No,' he thought sharply, 'That way, madness lies and you'll end up back here again.'

There came the sound of a distant roar. He turned his head. On the far side of the lake, he saw a large black shape. Dragon. He quickly swam for the shore and pulled on his trousers. There came another roar, closer this time. He grabbed his other clothes and ran for the house, hoping to shelter long enough to get his armour back on and find his weapons. Another roar, too close this time. He could hear wings flapping. He looked over his shoulder. The dragon was right above him and coming in to land. His foot slipped on a loose piece of dirt and he fell. The dragon's head pulled back, ready to launch an attack. A door slammed and his lass appeared from the front of the house, bow and arrow in hand. The dragon paused, surprised by this sudden newcomer. Brynjolf tried to tell her to run and hide but there was no time. She looked the dragon right in the eye, took a deep breath and….  
>"FUS RO DAH!" she shouted and the dragon suddenly hurtled backwards. Brynjolf didn't waste any time and scrambled to his feet.<br>"How did you…" he started.  
>"No time, your bow and arrows are right there," she said simply, "Keep your aim true." She pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it in her bow. She pulled back, not seeming to feel any pain from her injuries. The dragon seemed to recover. She let the arrow fly. It hit the dragon square in the chest and it let out a roar of pain. Brynjolf grabbed his own weapons which were resting by the door and quickly launched one of his own.<p>

The dragon roared and its icy breath hit them. Luckily, both being Nords, they were unaffected by the cold. They both let off two more volleys at the dragon, all hitting true. It seemed to stumble. Brynjolf notched another arrow and hit the dragon. It roared and fell forward, dead. Its flesh lit up and seemed to burn away, the light rushing forward and hitting Leif. She stood firm, her eyes closed as it poured into her. When the light stopped, she opened them again. Her eyes seemed to burn with bright flames. There was a moment of peace, no sound at all. Then the birds began to sing again, the insects buzzed and Leif fell forward to her knees. Brynjolf rushed forward and caught her before she fell backwards. She was conscious, just exhausted it seemed. The rumours he'd heard. They were true.  
>"Dragonborn," he whispered, "You're the Dragonborn."<br>"Yes," she replied, "The Greybeards called me to High Hrothgar, taught me the Thu'um." Her eyes rolled and her head went limp. She had passed out. Brynjolf stood up, lifting her easily into his arms and walked back into the house. In the dining room, he saw the venison and vegetables had been chopped up and put into the cooking pot. He went into her bedroom and laid her out on the large double bed. She needed to rest. He'd be sure to come fetch her when the stew was ready. He couldn't believe it. His lass was the Dragonborn.

He was just stirring the stew for the final time when he heard a noise. He looked up and saw her leaning against the doorframe. She looked a little more rested after the few hours sleep.  
>"My name is Leif Lakeman," she said, "And I was born here in Falkreath Hold, just on the other side of the lake." It took Brynjolf a moment to realise what she was doing. She was opening up to him, giving him more of her. He left the stew and walked over to her, his arms slipping around her waist and his thumbs running back and forth across her back.<br>"My parents were farmers," she said, "My mother, Erdolliel, gave my father seven daughters. I was the youngest. She died when I was still a babe in arms. Within weeks my father had left with another woman, an Imperial woman. He left my fourteen year old sister to care for us, promising he'd come back. He didn't return for three years. He returned with two sons by the Imperial woman. She despised my sisters and I. She treated us as if we were Skeevers, not her step-daughters. Her sons had beds covered in soft fur, my sisters and I had beds of old straw on the floor of the cellar. I hated her. I was the youngest and looked most like my mother, my father adored me though. His wife used to beat me with a stick when he was out, telling him I was clumsy and kept falling over and running into things. My father would then beat my eldest sister saying she hadn't taught me to walk properly."

Her breath kept catching as she spoke but no tears fell and her voice didn't falter. His hands moved to cup her face.  
>"One by one, she married my sisters off to anyone who would have them," Leif continued, "Except for me. My father insisted that I remain with them, because I look so much like my mother. He said I deserved someone special. They argued about it a lot. One night, about a year ago, they had another argument. My step-mother was trying to marry me off to the son of some Imperial merchant. My father said no. After he went to bed, my step-mother came in and tried to beat me again. But this time I fought back, I took the stick from her and hit her with it. She fell to the ground and didn't move. I don't know if I killed her or not. I just ran. I was running for the Pale Pass and nearly made it over the border but I was caught by Imperial soldiers. One of them asked me if I was in league with Ulfric Stormcloak. I said Ulfric who? Then he slapped me, that's when my face was cut, that's how I got the scar. They took me to Helgen and were about to cut my head off when the dragon attacked. I found out I was the Dragonborn not long after."<p>

Her hands were shaking badly. Brynjolf held them in his own.  
>"It's alright, lass," he said, "She's not here. It's just you and me, remember?" Leif took a deep breath. Brynjolf pulled her into his arms. Hers slipped around him but barely made it around his broad chest. Her face was buried in him and her shoulders shook.<br>"I don't want to be the Dragonborn," she sobbed, "I don't want to have to fight them. I hate fighting them. It's like they're following me. Everywhere I go, they're there. Each time, I'm scared it'll be my last and now…" Her hands balled into fists.  
>"Tell me, lass," he said, "Share with me."<br>"Delphine and Esbern….they want me to fight Alduin," she sobbed. Brynjolf's heart froze. He knew those stories. Alduin, the World Eater.  
>"I don't want to fight dragons," she continued, "I want to live in peace…I want to get married one day, have a family…I want to die peacefully in my sleep. Not twisted up in pain by some dragon's flame." She pulled back a little and looked up at him. Her eyes were reddened from the tears that fell down her cheeks. Brynjolf wiped them away.<br>"I promise lass, while we're here," he said, "You are not the Dragonborn. Here, you are just Leif."

One of his hands slipped to her hair, running through it gently. She turned and pressed a kiss to his palm.  
>"No one else knows we're here," he said, "It's just the two of us."<br>"Just the two of us," she repeated. She was about to say something else when her stomach rumbled. Brynjolf couldn't help but let out a light laugh. Leif frowned.  
>"Alright, lass," he said, "You should never confess too much on an empty stomach. Go sit down and I'll bring you something to eat."<p>

He let go of her and moved over to the fire place. He picked up on of the wooden bowls that had been sat on the hearth. The wood felt nice and warm as he began to ladle out some of the thick, brown stew into it. He'd barely placed it on the table in front of her when she had begun wolfing it down. He sat down next to her with his own bowl and began breaking up a loaf of bread.  
>"It's not much," he said, "But it'll build your strength back up." Leif swallowed her mouthful.<br>"I haven't got round to finishing the kitchen yet," she said, "I should probably work on that next."  
>"How long have you been working on this place?" Brynjolf asked.<br>"About six months," Leif replied, "There was nothing here when I bought it."  
>"I think it looks good," Brynjolf replied.<br>"It's just furniture, really," Leif said, taking a bit of bread and dipping it into her stew, "I wish I still had Lydia sometimes…"  
>"Lydia?" Brynjolf asked.<br>"She is…was…my housecarl," Leif said, "Balgruuf made me a Thane when I first visited Whiterun and gave me Lydia but she was just useless. We were barely out of Whiterun's gates when a bear showed up. She got herself killed, foolish girl, not much older than me. Now, it seems the new Jarl won't recognise me as a Thane unless I buy some property up there."  
>"Will you?" Brynjolf asked, stirring his stew absentmindedly.<br>"I don't know," she replied, "As it stands, I have somewhere to rest my head up there. Unless Kodlak has decided I'm not welcome there anymore."  
>"Kodlak?" Brynjolf said, "Kodlak Whitemane? You in the Companions, lass?" Leif smiled at him before biting into her bread.<br>"Well, I'll be damned," he said, smiling, "Busy little bee, aren't you? I thought you didn't like fighting."  
>"I don't like fighting dragons," Leif said, "Other Nords, Imperials…anything that doesn't fly, I'm alright with. Anything that I'm not forced to absorb its soul after I kill it."<br>"Does it hurt?" Brynjolf asked gently.  
>"Not so much hurt," she said, "It's like a weight pressing against me, like I'm being squeezed. At night, though, I can hear the voices of all the dragons, whispering in my mind."<br>"How many have you killed?"  
>"About twenty so far," she said, "Six of those in Falkreath. I swear, every time I go there, there's a dragon. Last time, there were two."<p>

Brynjolf grabbed the bottle of mead that was sat in the middle of the table. Honningbrew, it said on the label.  
>"You lift this from the meadery Maven sent you to?" he asked. Leif had a mouth full of stew but nodded.<br>"Nice work, lass," Brynjolf said, opening the bottle and pouring it into two tankards. Leif soon polished off her first bowl of stew and went for more. She wolfed down the second bowl faster than the first, a trickle of the gravy slid from her lower lip.  
>"You've got a little something," Brynjolf said, before reaching over and wiping it away with his thumb, his fingers splayed across her neck. Her eyes glanced sideways at the brown blob on his thumb. Before he could pull his hand away, her pink tongue had snaked out and licked it off. His breath hitched at the hot, wet feel on it. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have her tongue caress certain other parts of his anatomy.<br>"Lass, we really ought to talk about what we're doing here," he said, his voice a little low and husky.  
>"What are we doing?" Leif asked, looking up at him, her eyes darkened.<p>

He'd seen that look before. She'd worn it the day she'd found him in the Flagon, the day she'd come to join the Guild. He'd thought the lust was for the adventure. But she had that already with dragons, and the Companions and whatever else she had been doing around Skyrim. No, he now suspected that the lust was aimed at him. Was that why she had joined? To get closer to him?  
>"Look, Leif, lass," he started. She leant forward and kissed him again.<br>"I love it when you call me that," she said, her lips barely parting from his.  
>"What? Lass?" he said. Another kiss, a bit harder this time. Brynjolf pulled back.<br>"Look, Leif, believe me, I like where this is going," he whispered, looking down at the floor, hoping to find something to distract himself. Her feet, yes.

He'd never found feet particularly attractive, though he did know of a couple of thieves who had a bit of a foot fetish. Only, Leif's feet were something else. Her perfect little pink feet were bare and he could just imagine her toes curled in orgasm.  
>"I like where this is going too," Leif replied, licking the shell of his ear.<br>"But I want to do this right," Brynjolf said quickly, closing his eyes, "I want you to get better first." Leif pulled back, allowing Brynjolf to think more clearly. He brought his gaze back up and looked her in the eyes. They were grey; he'd never noticed the colour before.  
>"I want to know you completely," he said, "I don't want us to take this too fast and then mess it up with something stupid. I like you, lass." She smiled at the use of his pet name for her.<br>"I like you too," she replied, "You're right. It's just that sometimes…I can't control myself around you."  
>"Believe me, I know," said Brynjolf, "Let's get you healed and you can tell me all about your little adventures since Helgen." Leif nodded before hesitating.<br>"What's wrong lass?" he asked.  
>"I…I have a spare bed upstairs," she said, "But…I don't want to sleep alone in my room tonight. I've spent too much time alone in the past few months."<br>"It's ok, lass," he said, "I wouldn't want you to not sleep well. I'll stay with you tonight, but I'll be on top of the covers, understand?" Leif nodded, smiling and biting her lip. Damn, that looked cute. She wasn't going to make this easy.

* * *

><p>She definitely wasn't making this easy for him. He lay stretched out on his back beside her, on top of the covers. She was curled up on her side next to him, sleeping soundly. He would have been asleep by now if he'd lain down on his side, but that would mean curling his body around hers. That would have led to his arm being over her, which would have led to groping…and other things he knew he'd do in his sleep to the warm young body next to him. Instead his mind drifted to what she had said earlier.<p>

The youngest of seven sisters, an abusive step-mother. Lakeman she said her family name was. Brynjolf tried to remember his own, but it had been so long the only name he knew himself as was Brynjolf, thief of Riften. He heard a sigh and looked over at her. Her backside wiggled a little as she fidgeted. If he'd been curled around her and under the covers, that would definitely have aroused him. He'd come to realise this attraction had always been bubbling just beneath the surface but as he'd always been surrounded by others and constantly distracted by the Guild, he'd never had time to dwell on it. Now he had time. He knew she felt it too. He couldn't but help feel a small sense of pride. The Dragonborn wanted him, had chosen him. His mind flicked back to what she had said of her family. Her mother was dead, her sisters were Talos knows where and her father had abandoned them to pursue a woman who'd then beaten his children with a stick. Leif had been running away from this life. His blood ran a little cold when he thought about the possibility that his lass, his Leif, could have killed the woman. Not that the woman hadn't deserved it. He wondered what had become of the two brothers, or rather half-brothers, that Leif had spoken of. Had she held any affection for the boys her father had sired on another woman or was she indifferent to the pair who had been treated so much better than she and her sisters?

Brynjolf had a brother…somewhere. He remembered being told the story. He had been born somewhere in Hjaalmarch, just north of Morthal but not long after his birth, the family had abruptly upped and left. He and his mother had journeyed to The Rift, settling in Shor's Stone where they had lived in peace. His father and brother however had taken a different road. His mother had told him two different versions of the story. In one, they had turned back around, heading for Solitude, in another, they had headed for Winterhold or Windhelm. In any case, the pair held nothing but a mild curiosity for Brynjolf.

They had never come looking for Brynjolf and his mother. They hadn't come to his mother's funeral after she had died when Brynjolf was twelve. They hadn't come looking for Brynjolf when he was thrown out of the house at Shor's Stone. He'd been forced to head south to Riften. There he'd discovered his talent for pickpocketing and had later been recruited to the Thieves Guild. The rest, as they said, was history. He'd made a name for himself amongst the guards as a thief, and amongst the women of Riften, as a gifted lover. Leif fidgeted in her sleep again, rolling over completely.  
>"Brynjolf?" her sleepy voice came.<br>"I'm still here, lass," he replied softly, "I'm not going anywhere." She shifted closer, one hand creeping across his bare chest, playing with the light covering of hair. She needed him to be there.

After seeing her take on that dragon this afternoon, he knew she could take care of herself physically. But living out here, on her own, so close to where she had suffered at the hands of her stepmother, the Imperials and the dragons, it had left her emotionally fragile. It felt good that someone needed him to help keep their head above water and that she would do the same for him if he needed her to. He wondered; if he had walked past her farm, had paused and spoken to her stepmother, would she have tried to marry Leif off to him? Not that it mattered, because Brynjolf was a thief, and if she hadn't been offered to him, he would have stolen her away anyway. He listened to her breathing even out once more. He should roll her back over, shouldn't let her drape herself over him but it just felt too damn comfortable, because she was his lass.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls series.

A/N: Sorry about this taking so long.

4. Companions

Brynjolf left Leif in bed the following morning. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully save for the slight twitch in her temple. He remembered what she had said the day before, about hearing the voices of all the dragons she had killed in her sleep. As much as he wanted to stay in bed with her, he knew the fire would be almost dead and he hadn't seen a huge stock of firewood. They also needed water and something for breakfast. He grinned as he pulled on his boots. He could imagine doing this every day, fetching the water, feeding the fire, living out here with Leif. He paused at that thought. A life, out here, away from the guild? Out from under the harsh gazes of Mercer Frey, Maven Black-briar? He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to pull back, take it slow, get Leif healed and see how things went from there. He slipped out of the bedroom as he heard her mutter in her sleep.

The fire was burning low in the hearth as he suspected, the stock of firewood was almost depleted so he grabbed the woodcutters axe from by the door and headed out of the main door. There was a well and a stack of logs across the road. The air was clear and the only noise he could hear was the birds and the insects, shortly followed by the clunk of metal on wood as he started to chop. He was working up a sweat easily. He was going to need a bath. He grinned at the idea of convincing Leif to join him in the cool waters of the lake and the chance to run his hands over her body. He shook his head. Concentrate! He swung the axe again and there was another clunk as the log split. As he pulled the axe free he heard the clinking sound of metal armour. He paused, listening. Could it be guards on their way up from Falkreath? Or soldiers, Imperial or Stormcloack? He tensed, tightening his grip on his axe. If the Imperials had come to take Leif, then he would fight for her. He relaxed a little as the sound grew closer. It was one, maybe two people. Not enough to be guards or soldiers. Possibly bandits, or maybe even the Thalmor. Brynjolf had never had dealings with the Thalmor. He turned his head a little, trying to figure out which direction the sound was coming from, eyes scanning the tree line for movement.

Suddenly, a rather large Nord came running down the road that led to Helgen, the road they'd travelled two days before. Before Brynjolf could even think to move, the Nord had barrelled into the main doors and disappeared inside the manor. Brynjolf dropped the axe and ran after him, only to collide with someone else. As Brynjolf lifted himself off the road, he saw that the person he had run into was another Nord, slightly shorter than the first.  
>"Apologies," the Nord said, "We're looking for Leif Erdolliel. I'm Vilkas, of the Companions."<br>"Companions?" Brynjolf said, "I'm Brynjolf, of Riften. Who was that before?"  
>"My brother, Farkas," said Vilkas. There was a scream from inside the manor that made Brynjolf jump. Vilkas snorted.<br>"Ice brain probably forgot to knock," he muttered before storming in after his brother. Brynjolf followed.

Inside, they found Farkas sat at the table, a sheepish look on his face. Brynjolf could hear Leif muttering angrily on the other side of the closed doors.  
>"Well?" Vilkas asked his brother.<br>"I didn't knock," Farkas answered quietly, his face flushed red, "She was naked…waiting for someone, I think."  
>"That would be me," Brynjolf said, "Excuse me." He brushed past them, headed to the bedroom door and knocked.<br>"Knocking now is no good Farkas!" came Leif's response.  
>"It's me, lass," Brynjolf replied, "I'm coming in." He cracked the door open and slipped in before either of the brothers could voice their thoughts. She was just pulling her tunic down over her bandages as he shut the door.<br>"I know you said you were one of the Companions," Brynjolf said, "But I never thought you'd be high up enough to warrant two of them coming all this way."  
>"I'm not," Leif said, "I'm barely more than a new blood, a whelp as Vilkas likes to keep reminding me. Something's got to be wrong." Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned.<br>"The Companions have been going a long time without you," Brynjolf said, "I didn't sew up your side for you to go tearing your stitches going gallivanting around Skyrim with Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee out there." Leif chuckled.  
>"They're not that bad," she said, "Vilkas may give me a hard time but he's just pushing me to improve myself. Farkas, well, Farkas is like a big dog. He looks mean but he's as soft as dirt and twice as affectionate."<br>"Affectionate?" Brynjolf said, sitting down on the bed and watching as she pulled on her boots, "Did you ever show him a lot of… 'affection'?"  
>"No, I haven't slept with him," Leif replied firmly, "Not for lack of trying on his part."<br>"How come?" Brynjolf asked.  
>Leif sighed before standing up and walking over to him. She stood between his parted knees, leaned forward so they were face to face and draped her arms over his shoulders. His hands instantly moved to her hips, his fingers gently squeezing her soft flesh.<br>"Because by the time he let me know he was interested," she said, "I'd already been to Riften, already been accosted by some damnable red-headed thief and caught pickpocketing by the guards." Brynjolf smiled again. She was so close, he could feel her soft breath on his face. All he had to do was lean forward and he'd be able to feel those soft lips against his again. He was just about to do so when someone rapped on the door.  
>"Whelp! What's taking so long?!" It was Vilkas and he sounded mad.<br>"Coming," Leif responded, pulling away from Brynjolf and heading out the door. Brynjolf followed her out.

As he stepped into the main hall, he could feel the eyes of Vilkas and Farkas on him, sense their accusing stares. He knew of the strong bonds between the shield-siblings of Jorrvaskr but surely these two were adult enough not to object if one of their so-called 'sisters' took a lover. Even if there had been no such activity between himself and Leif.  
>"So, what calls for two of Jorrvaskr's finest to come all the way down here?" Leif asked as she strode around the table. Vilkas turned his gaze to her. His eyes looked dark and heavy. They made Brynjolf feel uneasy.<br>"Kodlak…is dead…"Farkas said quietly. Leif stumbled. Vilkas made a noise under his breath and turned away.  
>"What? When?" Leif asked, sinking into a chair.<br>"Over a week ago," Farkas said, "During the battle at Whiterun, the Silver Hand snuck in with the Stormcloaks, attacked Jorrvaskr and…" His voice trailed off.  
>"When you never returned to the mead hall, we assumed you'd been killed too," Vilkas spoke up, "Only then we heard rumours about you fleeing the battle. You'd been nowhere in sight when the Silver Hand turned up. I'm going to ask you this question once, sister, are you a Silver Hand spy?"<br>"What?!" Leif said, "How dare you! How dare you accuse me of such a vile thing!" She leapt to her feet.  
>"Kodlak took me in when I had nowhere else to go!" she spat, "All of you, you gave me a purpose, training, a bed to sleep in. And you accuse me of betraying your generosity?" Her eyes darkened and a low rumble emanated from her throat.<br>"Do you think I would have taken the beast blood if I were in the Silver Hand?" her voice was impossibly deep, her fingers digging into the wood of the table.  
>"Calm yourself, sister," Farkas said, standing up and walking around to the table, "Don't give the wolf the satisfaction of getting what it wants." Leif's eyes closed and she took two deep breaths. Farkas put his hands on her upper arms. Leif flinched, throwing his hands off her arms. He looked confused.<br>"Before he died, Kodlak asked to speak to you," Vilkas said, "What was it about?"  
>"He…he had a job for me," Leif said. Brynjolf folded his arms. Even he could tell she was hiding something.<br>"Well, I hope it was worth it," Vilkas snarled, "Because it meant you weren't there to defend him." Brynjolf wanted to step in, say that she had been sent on a job by the guild and that's why she hadn't been there. Vilkas must have seen his slight movement.  
>"You got something to say?" he snapped, turning to look Brynjolf in the face. Brynjolf almost stepped back at the man's words.<br>"Leave him out of this," Leif said.  
>"No, I want to know why someone from Riften is all the way out here," said Vilkas, "You've certainly never been sent to Riften by us, so how did you meet him? He's not one of those cockless bed slaves they have in Cyrodiil is he?" He gave Brynjolf a glance up and down.<br>"I can assure you, I still have all my manly parts," Brynjolf said, finding his voice again. He stood up straight, seeing that he was of a height with Vilkas. Vilkas shifted his weight a little, lifting his chin up. Leif rolled her eyes. It was like watching two alley cats puffing themselves up before a fight.  
>"I have other commitments besides the Companions," she said, drawing the men's attention back to her.<br>"Oh yeah, like what?" Vilkas said, ignoring Brynjolf. Leif took a deep breath.  
>"Kodlak knew," she said quietly, "I told him in confidence. That's why he never questioned why I disappeared from time to time. I'm not just a Companion…I'm a Thane of Whiterun…and here in Falkreath. I…follow me." She turned and headed for the back room, pulling open the cellar door. Brynjolf glanced at the two Nord brothers. They seemed intrigued. Brynjolf himself too was curious to see if there was more to Leif than she had let on.<p>

Once they were in the basement, Brynjolf was surprised to see that this was the most complete room in the house.  
>"So, if you're not just a Companion, what else are you?" Farkas asked. Leif lit a torch, illuminating a mannequin.<br>"I'm a member of the Thieves Guild," she said, dragging her fingertips over the armour. Brynjolf felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered seeing her in that armour for the first time. She'd looked like she had been born to it, like she belonged in it.  
>"Thieves Guild?" Vilkas spoke with disgust.<br>"Brynjolf's the second in command," Leif said. Vilkas looked at Brynjolf who just grinned and winked.  
>"Ok, so you were stealing something instead of standing with your brothers and sisters," Vilkas growled, turning away from Brynjolf.<br>"No," said Leif.  
>"What?" Brynjolf and Vilkas spoke in unison. Leif led the way through an archway to where she had built a forge, heading for a wooden chest to the right. She opened it and pulled out a cuirass.<br>"A…a Stormcloak?" said Farkas, "You've sided with Ulfric. Why? Kodlak wanted us to stay out of the war."  
>"My loyalty to Ulfric started the moment that the Stormcloaks took it upon themselves to defend me," Leif said, tracing a hand over the cuirass, "When the Imperials would have cut my head off for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, the Stormcloaks gave me clothes to wear, a weapon to fight with and helped me escape the dragon at Helgen. Ulfric and I were in the same cart being taken to the executioners block, and we have the same gift."<br>"Gift?" Vilkas muttered, "What are you talking about? You're a Stormcloak, a Thief and a Companion. What else are you?" Leif looked Vilkas in the eye and reached into the chest again, pulling out a large bone.  
>"I'm Dragonborn," she said.<br>"The…the Dragonborn," Vilkas said, "You're the Dragonborn."


End file.
